Jerboa

soft sunlit

early morning song of free flowing streams

singin the one syllable energy voice

hummmmm…listening?

(…..red purple mountain canyons…seeing?

…..brown muddy highways runnin by…contemplating?

…..good day children…throwing kisses?)

Colorady chipmunk perched ontop mesa rock

in one quick prank darts off,

this, a pre-breakfast lesson

about revelation

where jerboa lives today

there is some reveling

drifting through this high yellow grass,

humming within her silent bouncy songs

day-night-dark-light:

(“can I patter a bit closer to you,

I’ve never seen such a bearded piece of fruit where I live?")

uncomplicated displays are as much a certainty as the coming on anyhow journey

thus, tonight with clearer eyes I dream

with more vivid heart I gaze

across these celebrated colossal peaks,

where distant voices echo

further songs of now,

of what may be disclosed,

of that which still unfolds

8/5/73

Beaver Creek, Colorado